T^      r 


UC-NRLF 


\' 


ESTABLISHED  1889 

» 

THE  OLDEST  AND  LARGEST  REVIEW  IN  THE  ENGLISn  LANGUAC 

DEVOTED  TO  POETRY  AND  DRAMy 


^oe^^^pre^ 


TITLE   REQISTBRBD  AS   A  TRADE   MARK 


Autumn  Number 


From  Morn  tcHMidnight,   A  Modern  Mystery  in  Seven  Scenes 
By  GEORG  KAISER 

Some  Modern  Belgian  Poets 

By  FEDERICO  OLIVERO 


At  The  Littld'Pipe,  A  Hungarian  Folk  Play  in  Two  Scenes 
By  LILLIAN  SUTTON  PELEE 

Richard  Dehmel 

By  EDWIN  H.  ZEYDEL 


(Ccmplete  Contents  on  the  Inside  Cover) 


IL 


Entered  at  •econd-ciMt  matiei  ai  itie  Post  Office  at  Boston,  July  22, 1903. 


$l,bQ  a  Copy    $6.00  a  Year 


Editors 
CHARLOTTE  PORTER,       HELEN  A.  CLARKE, 

AUTUMN,  1920 


RUTH  HILL 


From  Morn  to  Midnight,  A  Modem  Mystery  in  Seven  Scenes       Georg  Kaiser 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Ashley  Dukes 


Nameless 


Jens  Peter  Jacobsen 

Translated  frem  the  Danish  by  Jeannette  Kiekintveld 


Some  Modern  Belgian  Poets 


Federico  Olivero 


The  Full  of  the  Moon,  An  Irish  Play  in  One  Act  Gertrude  Herrick 

La  Femme  Qui  Rit  Dora  Neill  Raymond 

Richard  Dehmel  Edwin  H.  Zeydel 

At  the  Little  Pipe,  A  Hungarian  Folk  Play  in  Two  Scenes  Lillian  Sutton  Pelee 


Ford  Madox  Hueffer 


A  Bolshevist  Theory  of  Art 

Three  Translations  from  Verhaeren 
Les  Pauvres 
La  Petite  Vierge 
La  Saint  Jean 

Songs  of  the  Chippewa 

Whirling  Wind  Exults  in  the  Storm 
A  Bridegroom's  Songs 

Texan  Sketches 
L     The  Dam 
IL     The  Norther 
III.     Violets  in  the  Fall 


Lawrence  Marsden  Price 

Geraldine  P.  Dilla 

Eva  May  Sadler 

Portia  Martin 
Albert  Edmund  Trombly 


An  Arabesque  ■ 

Florizel  to  Fiametta 
Among  Friends 


Jens  Peter  Jacobsen 

Translated  from  the  Danish  by  Jeannette  Kiekintveld 

Dora  Neill  Raymond 


317 
363 

364 

379 
392 
393 

422 

432 
454 
460 


463 


465 


467 


469 
470 


NOTICE  TO  SUBSCRIBERS 

POET   LORE  is  published  quarterly  in   the  months  of    March  {Spring  Num- 
ber), June  {Summer  Number),   Seyaljeriiber  {\:Autufho.\Number) ,  and  December 
{Winttr  Number).  '.."  :''•  •    '"'  '        '  '  ' 

Annual  subscription  $6  00.     Sing^.e"cqi?ie;o  $5:5G,''-.  ]'/.  \\l  '.  .'.'. 


V 


LILLIAN  SUTTON  PELEE  431 

Andros  {Noticing  that  the  tree  has  been  struck  by  lightning). — 
Did  it  strike  him,  too?  {He  goes  to  Mihaly,  turns  him  over  and 
listens  to  his  heart.)  He  is  dead.  But  there  is  no  sign  that  he 
has  been  struck  by  lightning. 

Ferencz  bdcsi  {Prophetically). — Not  by  Hghtning — by  Him. 
{He  crosses  himself  solemnly.) 

Andros  {He  has  been  examining  Mihaly  for  some  marks). — 
It  is  clear  now.  In  putting  back  the  cross  he  stuck  the  point  of 
it  through  his  trouser-leg.  When  it  jerked  him  forward  he  became 
frightened.  {He  looks  at  the  open,  staring  eyes  of  Mihaly,  from 
which  even  death  has  not  yet  removed  the  fear.)  Yes,  poor  boy,  he 
died  of  superstitious  fear. 

Ferencz  bdcsi  {Moving  away  from  Andros). — Don't  find  ex- 
cuses, lad.     God  struck  him  down  for  his  blasphemy. 

Terez  {In  a  tone  of  azve). — He  died  in  sin.  I  will  pray  for  his 
soul.  I  will  ask  Father  Istvan  to  let  me  join  the  Sisters,  and  I 
will  pray  for  his  soul  all — my — life. 

Andros. — It  was  not  God,  I  tell  you,  Terez,  that  killed  him. 
It  was  his  own  silly  fear.     {Places  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  shoulder) 

Terez  {Shrinking  fro^n  his  touch). — I — will— pray.  As  a  nun 
God  will  hear  m.y  prayers.     He  will  forgive — 

(Andros  shakes  his  head  sorrowfully  as  if  words  were  useless 
at  this  time  of  grief.) 

Curtain 


FORD  MADOX  HUEFFER 

By  Lawrence  Marsden^rice 

THERE  is  a  line  of  little  steamships  which  plys  ,  its 
trade  between  Rotterdam  and  Mannheim  carrying 
on  a  mixed  passenger  and  freight  traffic.  On  the 
deck  of  one  of  its  vessels  I  was  spending  my  first 
day  on  the  continent.  The  sun  was  shining 
brightly,  the  sky  was  blue  and  the  waters  at  least 
bluish,  as  they  wound  their  way  through  the  marshy  Holland 
banks;  there  were  windmills  on  either  side  and  at  the  scattered 
landing  places  now  and  then  a  boy  and  girl,  wide-trousered  and 
short-skirted,  would  come  down  to  the  river's  edge  to  meet  the 
boat.  Who  ever  would  have  believed  that  such  windmills  and 
such  pairs  really  existed  except  on  blue  china.?  Europe  was  more 
than  living  up  to  my  expectations. 

Most  of  the  passengers  were  Dutch,  several  were  German, 
and  numerous  other  nationalities  were  represented.  The  jumble 
of  tongues  produced  a  delightful  atmosphere  of  foreignness  that 
was  partly  dispelled  by  the  voice  of  an  Englishman,  who  took 
exception  to  the  way  the  Dutch  sat  on  the  top  deck  playing  cards 
in  night-caps  and  "pyjahmas. "  For  my  part  I  rather  liked  it  as 
well  as  everything  else  strange  and  Dutch  and  unconventional. 
After  som„e  discussion  of  this  and  other  matters  my  com.panion 
gave  m.e  his  card,. which  bore  the  nam.e  Ford  Madox  HueflFer.  I 
may  have  looked  at  it  rather  quizzically,  thinking  that  Hueffer 
was  an  unusual  nam.e  for  an  Englishman.  He  misread  my 
thoughts  and  asked  if  I  perhaps  knew  Ford  Madox  Brown  the 
artist.  As  I  was  a  person  of  no  education  except  for  what  I  had 
been  able  to  pick  up  at  an  American  college,  I  answered  in  the 
negative,  but  when  he  spoke  of  the  pre-Raphaelites  I  had  some- 
thing to  say,  for  I  had  visited  the  Liverpool  gallery  only  about  a 
week  before,  and  this  was  m.y  first  opportunity  to  give  rein  to  my 
enthusiasm.  He  listened  with  interested,  or  polite,  or  perhaps 
amused  attention  until  we  were  interrupted  by  an  Armenian 
merchant,  who  said  he  knew  seventeen  languages,  had  been 
speaking  five  of  them  on  the  boat  and  would  now  talk  a  little 

432 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN  PRICE  433 

English.     As  this  exercise  did  not  interest  me  I  walked  on,  leaving 
my  acquaintance  discoursing  patiently  with  the  intruder. 

Seated  at  the  sunny  stern  I  found  a  fair-faced  young  girl  with 
pre-Raphaelite  hair  reading  a  beautifully  illustrated  child's  version 
of  Kirig  Arthur.  She  was  willing  to  share  its  wonders  with  me, 
and  we  were  both  engrossed  in  it  when  I  saw  the  Englishman 
standing  before  me  again,  for  Christina  was  his  daughter.  Sev- 
eral years  later  I  learned  that  she  was  named  after  Christina 
Rossetti,  and  that  she  was  the  inspiration  of  a  beautiful  poem. 

I  had  reserved  no  cabin,  so  I  had  to  sleep  that  night  on  deck. 
I  remember  that  my  acquaintance  lent  me  the  pillow  and  blanket 
which  contributed  more  than  the  stars  to  my  enjoyment  of  the 
night.  The  next  day  he  took  the  train,  while  I  remained  on 
beard  the  beat  in  order  to  spend  a  few  hours  at  several  of  the 
large  Rhine  cities.  I  did  so  against  the  advice  of  my  fellow- 
traveller,  who  said  the  Germany  that  was  worth  seeing  was  in  the 
small  towns.  Finding  me  obdurate  he  invited  me  to  call  on  him 
in  Heidelberg,  for  that  was  the  temporary  destination  of  both  of 
us. 

As  it  turned  out  I  spent  several  pleasant  evenings  with  him  and 
his  family  at  the  Molkenkur  looking  down  on  Heidelberg  castle 
and  on  the  Neckar  valley  far  below.  I  do  not  know  what  we 
talked  about,  but  I  know  it  was  not  art  and  poetry,  for  it  was 
not  until  many  years  later  that  I  learned  I  had  been  entertained 
by  a  poet  unawares.  Neither  did  he  talk  to  me  of  sports,  of 
hunting,  golf,  and  cricket,  of  experiences  on  a  farm  in  Pennsyl- 
vania, ef  drives  over  New  England  roads,  of  a  visit  to  California, 
or  of  lectures  given  in  a  German  university.  I  had  the  impression 
all  the  time  that  I  was  conversing  with  an  easy-going,  rather 
fastidious  gentleman  of  leisure.  For  my  part  I  made  just  no 
impression  at  all  on  him.  I  have  since  read  nearly  a  thousand 
of  Hueifer's  anecdotes  relating  to  people  he  has  met  and  I  find 
I  figure  in  none  of  them.,  which  is  a  reassuring  sign  that  I  did  not 
give  m.yself  away,  A  few  years  later  I  began  to  read  in  the  pages 
of  Harper's  Monthly  the  details  of  his  interesting  connection  with 
the  Pre-Raphaelite  group.  Later  I  began  to  know  him  as  a 
critic  ef  art,  literature,  and  life,  as  novelist  and  as  a  poet,  and 
little  by  little  I  pieced  together  the  story  of  his  life,  and  a  picture 
of  his  personality. 

If  I  knew  this  writer  only  from  his  books  I  should  gain  the  im- 
pression that  he  was  relatively  unapproachable,  that  he  fled  before 
merchants  and  shunned  the    companionship  of    the  common  or 


432.iS5 


434  fORI)   MADOX   h'UEFFER 

travelling  American.  If  I  tried  to  form  an  opinion  by  reading 
Violet  Hunt's  (Mrs.  Ford  Madox  HueflFer's)  Desirable  Alien  or 
Zeppelin  Nights  I  should  strive  in  vain  to  reconcile  the  traits  of 
Serapion  and  of  Joseph  Leopold,  but  I  should  only  be  able  to 
conclude  that  their  model  was  in  some  way  a  very  disagreeable 
person.  Self-disparagement  as  practiced  in  the  best  English 
circles  involves  also  disparagem.ent  of  one's  immediate  family. 
Moreover  Flueffer  always  insists  in  theory  that  the  poem  not  the 
pcet  counts,  but  why  then  does  he  tell  of  the  poetic  side  of  the  life 
of  Christina  Rossetti  which  he  knows  so  well.  I  propose  to  in- 
dulge as  much  as  I  please  in  what  he  calls  "chatter  about  Harriet," 
and  caring  little  whether  my  subject  is  justified  in  being  a  Catholic 
or  a  To'-y  or  anything  else  that  he  may  be,  I  shall  try  to  trace  out 
how  he  became  what  he  is. 


Ford  Madox  Hueffer  comes  from  a  race  of  non-conformists. 
The  great-great-grandfather  Brown  was  the  father  of  non-lancet 
surgery.  He  lost  his  practice  because  of  his  professional  hetero- 
doxy and  died  in  a  debtors'  prison.  His  son,  a  Whig,  by  a  quarrel 
with  his  Tory  patron,  spoiled  not  only  his  own  naval  career  but 
that  of  his  son.  When  this  son.  Ford  Madox  Brown,  turned  to 
painting  he  saw  things  with  his  own  eyes  and  painted  them  as  he 
saw  them.  For  this  offense  his  name  became  anathema  among 
the  early  Victorians.  Dickens  demanded  that  Brown,  Millais, 
and  the  Pre-Raphaelite  leaders  should  be  imprisoned.  Brown 
was  subject  to  persecution  of  this  sort  throughout  his  life,  and  died 
in  his  old  age  in  comparative  poverty  and  disrepute. 

Ford  Madox  Brown  had  three  children.  Oliver  Madox 
Brown  the  only  son,  died  at  the  age  of  eighteen  after  having 
already  won  distinction  as  a  poet,  novelist,  and  painter.  Lucy 
Brown  married  William  Rossetti,  the  brother  of  Dante  Gabriel 
and  Christina,  and  the  second  daughter,  Catherine  Brown,  married 
a  German  doctor  of  philosophy,  Franz  FIuefTer,  the  father  of  Ford 
Madox  Hueffer. 

Franz  Hueffer  had  recently  taken  a  hasty  departure  from  his 
native  country  as  a  result  of  a  practical  joke  he  had  played  on  a 
professor  of  Berlin  university.  Hueffer,  then  a  student,  and  the 
professor  were  to  address  royalty  from  the  sam.e  platform  on  the 
following  day.  Hueffer's  rooms  adjoined  the  professor's  apart- 
ments, so  he  was  able  to  overliear  the  professor  rehearsing  his 


LAWRENCE   MARSDEN   PRICJ«: 


435 


speech.  Being  possessed  of  a  remarkable  memory  HueflFer  deliv- 
ered this  speech  the  following  day,  anticipating  the  professor,  who 
was  left  to  stammer  a  few  commonplace  impromptus.  Hueffer 
wisely  took  a  hasty  departure  from  Berlin,  passed  his  doctor  exam- 
ination at  Gottingen,  and  sailed  for  foreign  soil.  As  he  was  an 
accomplished  linguist,  a  favorite  pupil  of  Schopenhauer,  and  like 
his  master  an  Anglomaniac,  the  transition  to  English  surroundings 
was  an  easy  one.  He  took  up  his  abode  in  Chelsea,  about  half 
way  between  the  homes  of  Carlyle  and  William.  Rossctti,  with  both 
of  whom  he  was  connected  by  strong  bonds  of  friendship.  As 
musical  critic  of  the  London  Tim^s,  he  held  a  position  of  power 
and  influence.  He  administered  stern  critical  justice,  unin- 
fluenced by  bribes  or  threats,  both  of  which  were  oiTered  in  abun- 
dance. As  a  Wagnerite  he  was  held  in  opprobrium  by  the  pre- 
vailing public  opinion.  On  the  whole,  he  brings  to  a  fitting  close 
the  succession  of  Ford  Madox  Hueffer's  non-conformist  ancestors. 

It  was  in  his  grandfather's  house,  however,  that  "Fordie" 
spent  most  of  his  boyhood  days  and  received  the  impressions  that 
dominated  his  later  years.  His  grandfather  lived  in  an  old 
Georgian  house.  No.  120  Fitzroy  Square,  the  house  which  Thack- 
eray describes  in  The  Nezvcovies.  Here  Brown  carried  on  the 
struggle  against  Ruskin,  Dickens,  and  the  Victorian  self-righteous- 
ness, in  the  early  days,  alone.  Later  he  joined  hands  with  the 
Pre-Raphaelites,  though  he  did  not  go  to  their  length  in  the 
direction  of  medieval  rom.anticism.  Still  later  he  followed  the 
lead  of  the  social  and  aesthetic  reform.ers  of  whom  William  Morris 
was  the  chief.  The  Rossettis,  Swinburne,  Hohnan  Hunt,  and  a 
score  of  other  notable  men  of  art  and  letters  were  habitues  of  the 
Brown  house,  and  Brown  was  m^eanwhile  helping  another  score  of 
poor  poets  out  of  the  gutters  for  which  they  seem.ed  to  show  a  fatal 
proclivity.  Thus  the  grandson  was  exposed  in  turn  to  Fabianism., 
anarchism.,  aestheticism.,  and  all  the  other  "isms"  of  the  time. 
Here,  w^e  will  not  say  he  drifted,  but  rather  he  swam  counter  to 
every  current.  He  says  of  him.self:  "I  must  personally  have  had 
three  separate  sets  of  political  opinions.  To  irritate  my  relatives, 
who  advocated  advanced  thought,  I  dimly  remember  that  I  pro- 
fessed myself  a  Tory.  Amongst  the  bourgeoisie,  whom  it  was  my 
duty  to  epater,  I  passed  for  a  dangerous  anarchist.  In  general 
speech,  manner,  and  appearance  I  must  have  resembled  a  so- 
cialist of  the  Morris  group. " 

HueflFer's  education  was  of  a  most  sporadic  nature.  The 
conversations  he  listened  to  in  his  grandfather's  house  formed  its 


436  FORD   MADOX  HUEFFER 

chief  element.  These  were  later  supplemented  by  his  attendance 
on  the  socialistic  meetings  of  William  Morris  and  his  group. 
During  the  frequent  intervals  of  non-attendance  at  school  he  was 
educated  by  his  Aunt  Lucy  to  be  a  genius.  "Fordie"  felt  this 
to  be  a  misguided  effort,  but  submitted  with  docility.  While  his 
more  brilliant  cousins  could  master  important  roles  in  Greek  plays, 
he  could  do  no  better  than  to  represent  the  mob  and  rush  in  at 
the  proper  moment  with  the  proper  ejaculations.  We  find  out 
incidentally  that  he  spent  many  seasons  with  relatives  in  Paris 
where  he  learned  to  prefer  the  French  language  to  his  own.  In 
one  of  his  anecdotes  he  appears  as  a  boy  of  nine  or  ten  visiting 
relatives  in  Westphalia,  in  another  as  a  young  man  studying  at 
Bad  Soden  under  the  tutorship  of  an  atheistic  Lutheran  pastor, 
who  persuaded  him  to  read  Nietzsche,  when,  as  he  says,  he  should 
have  been  reading  Catullus,  for  Hueffer  Is  enamored  of  the  true 
classic  spirit,  too  much  so  to  tolerate  the  renaissance  figures  that 
sparingly  grace  the  marts  of  London  and  profusely  adorn  the 
bridges  of  Berlin.  HueiTer  also  studied  music  and  before  he  had 
reached  maturity  he  had  a  "nodding  acquaintance"  with  nearly 
every  Instrument  but  the  piano  and  the  drum. 

A  single  Incident  which  he  relates  for  another  purpose  shows 
the  state  of  advancement  of  his  education  shortly  before  the  death 
of  his  father  In  1889.  At  the  last  school  to  which  he  was  sent  the 
modern  language  master  began  one  day  to  direct  innuendos  at 
ilm  because  he  attended  concerts  rather  than  language  classes. 
At  first  Hueffer  paid  no  attention  to  this,  for,  as  he  says,  his 
father  had  always  taught  him  that  schoolmasters  were  men  of 
Inferior    Intelligence,    to   whom   personally   one    should    pay    no 

'attention,  though  their  rules  of  conduct  must  be  exactly  observed. 

^^hen  It  occurred  to  him  that  the  attack  was  aimed  at  Beethoven, 
Bach,  Mozart,  and  Wagner  quite  as  much  as  against  himself. 
Filled  with  fury  he  launched  an  Invective  against  the  teacher, 
considerately  speaking  In  German  In  order  that  the  others  might 
not  understand.  Incidentally  he  quoted  Victor  Hugo  to  the 
eff"ect  that  in  order  to  utter  such  sentiments  ^^  il  faut  etre  stupide 
comme  un  maitre  (Tecole  qui  ri'est  bon  a  rieti  que  pour  planter  des 
choux."  The  irate  schoolmaster  threw  an  Ink  pot  at  his  pupil, 
destroying  his  suit.  Mutual  apologies  followed,  and  for  the  mo- 
ment the  matter  seemed  settled,  but  HueflFer  was  regarded  as  a 
disturbing  element  in  the  school  and  he  was  soon  dismissed  on  a 
technicality.  The  founder  of  the  school,  wishing  to  prevent 
huckstering  among  the  boys  had  provided  that  any  one  of  them 


1  A 


LAWRENCE   MARSDEN   PRICE  437 

engaged  In  trade  should  be  dismissed.  Hueffcr  at  the  age  of 
sixteen  had  already  produced  a  successful  volume  and  had  re- 
ceived money  for  it.  He  was  accordingly  debarred  from  the 
school.  This  volume  was  evidently  Brown  Otvl,  a  fairy  story  il- 
lustrated by  Ford  Madox  Brown. 

The  death  of  his  grandfather  marked  a  critical  point  in 
Hueffer's  life.  He  kept  company  for  a  little  time  with  the  Fabians 
and  the  aesthetes,  but  their  dogmatism  drove  him  from  camp. 
The  Fabians  had  codified  in  hundreds  of  tracts  what  their  mem- 
bers should  believe  about  God  and  man,  and  the  aesthetes  held 
no  one  a  poet  who  was  not  secure  in  the  details  of  the  life  of 
Beatrice  or  in  the  Cuchullain  saga.  In  despair  HueflFer  turned  to 
the  "Henley  gang."  This  group  was  boisterous,  self-vaunting, 
and  piratical,  but  its  members  at  least  had  red  blood.  They  be- 
lieved that  a  man  should  have  his  sharp  struggle  with  life  and  be 
a  writer  only  incidentally.  It  was  their  influence  that  drove 
Hueffer  away  from  London  for  his  "tussle  with  the  good  red 
earth."  Then  began  the  period  which  he  mistakenly  calls  his 
thirteen  lost  years.  These  were  not  lost  years,  however,  even  had 
they  done  nothing  else  than  to  give  him  the  material  for  his  book 
The  heart  of  the  Country  (Part  II  in  Engla^id  and  the  Efiglish), 
wherein  he  preserves  for  posterity  a  sympathetic  and  convincing 
picture  of  the  struggle  for  existence  and  the  thought  life  of  that 
passing  type,  the  English  farm-laborer. 

The  chief  value  of  this  epoch  in  HuefTer's  life  was  that  it 
brought  stability  to  his  views,  where  a  conflicting  ferment  had 
held  sway  before,  or  to  put  it  otherwise,  he  assimilated  selectively 
in  this  period  the  too  abundant  mental  pabulum  of  his  previous 
years.  It  was  now  that  he  first  found  time  to  trace  theories  back 
to  their  first  principles  and  first  called  himself  a  Catholic  and  a 
Tory.  Religion  he  concluded  must  eventually  be  founded  on 
faith  rather  than  reason,  and  m.ankind  must  seek  the  highest 
efficiency  of  the  few  rather  than  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest 
number.  The  various  sects  of  Protestantism  and  socialism,  so  he 
argues  in  The  Critical  Attitude,  are  merely  temporizing  with  ulti- 
mate necessity.  Hueffer  combines  his  religious  and  social  views 
with  political  liberalism.  He  criticizes  frankly  the  marriage  reg- 
ulations of  his  church  and  believes  in  the  fallibility  of  the  pope. 
He  believes  in  self-determination  for  all  parts  of  Ireland.  He  V 
suffered  violence  for  his  opposition  to  the  Boer  war  and  to  a  less 
degree,  no  doubt,  for  his  championing  of  woman  suffrage. 

Hueffer  produced  very  little,  it  is  true,  in  his  thirteen  country 


438  FORD   MADOX   HUEFFER 

years;  a  treatize  on  the  art  of  his  grandfather,  another  on  Ros- 
setti's  art,  a  study  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  which  laid  the  basis  for 
later  historical  novels,  and  some  poems  which  appeared  under 
the  title  The  Face  of  the  Night.  For  these  poems,  however,  few 
as  they  are,  he  would  deserve  literary  immortality.  Sweeter  and 
more  appealing  poems  than  those  in  A  Sequence^  then  The  Great 
View,  An  End  Piece,  and  To  Christina  at  Nightfall  have  not  been 
written. 

Toward  the  end  of  this  period  HueflPer  came  to  know  well 
his  neighbor  Joseph  Conrad  and  collaborated  with  him  on  two 
novels.  The  Inheritors  (1901),  and  Romaiice  (1903).  This  marks 
for  HuefTer  the  beginning  of  a  rather  industrious  period  of  novel 
writing.  He  was  already  resuming  connexion  with  London  life 
although  he  retained  his  Kentish  hom.e.  In  the  year  191 1  he 
suddenly  realized  that  he  had  grown  up  and  wrote  for  his  children, 
Christina  and  Katherine,  Ancient  Lights  and  Certain  New  Re- 
flections, Memories  of  a  Young  Man.  He  tells  them  in  the  preface 
that  he  wants  to  preserve  for  them  the  story  of  his  life,  to  save 
them  pains  he  has  suffered,  and  to  compare  his  childhood  days 
with  theirs.  This  is  another  way  of  saying  that  his  critical 
faculties  have  developed,  a  fact  which  is  sufficiently  attested  by 
his  collection  of  essays  that  appeared  about  the  same  time  called 
The  Critical  Attitude.  In  the  year  1914  he  set  himself  down  to 
the  task  of  analyzing  seriously  the  technique  of  Henry  James, 
whose  work  he  so  much  admired.  Naturally  then,  his  novel 
The  Good  Soldier  (1915)  is  even  more  strongly  reminiscent  than 
his  earlier  fiction  cf  his  m.aster.  In  the  year  191 5  appeared  two 
anti-Prussian  volumes  from  Hueffer's  hand,  both  of  them  notable 
for  the  mass  of  material  they  marshal  together  and  the  deliberate- 
ness  of  judgment  they  display,  but  Hueffer  suddenly  resolved  to 
contribute  blood  instead  of  sweat  and  ink  to  the  cause.  What 
led  him  to  this  step  is  very  clear.  It  was  the  death  of  the  French 
sculptor  Henri  Gaudier  and  "the  death  at  the  same  time  of 
another  boy — but  quite  a  commonplace,  nice  boy."  Although 
lie  was  forty-four  years  of  age,  Hueffer  managed  in  1917  to  secure 
a  second  lieutenancy  in  the  British  army.  The  product  of  the 
next  two  years  was  a  collection  of  Poems  Written  on  Active  Service. 


II 

In  reading  the  work  of  Ford  Madox  Hueffer  one  is  reminded 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN  PRICE  439 

ever  and  again  of  his  grandfatlier.     That  Hueffer  has  the  pictorial    -V*^ 
instinct  is  obvious  from  his  descriptions.     He  docs  not  cover  his 
literary  walls,  gallery  fashion,  with  pictures,  but  here  and  there, 
at  just   the   right  place   architecturally,    he   hangs   a    landscape 
painting  that  cannot  be  forgotten,   as  that  of  the  chess-board 
pattern  of  sunlit,  Pre-Raphaelite  Hessian  harvest-lands  where  he 
first  heard  of  the  death  of  Holman  Hunt,  or  the  view  of  the 
French  shore  that  flashed  upon  his  eye  one  day  in  his  Kentish 
home,  a  picture  which  symbolized  for  him  the  spiritual  nearness 
(>f  England  and  France.     In  the  last  chapter  of  the  work  Between 
St.  George  and  St.  Denis,  Iiuefi"er  tells  us  how  a  poem  originated  >^ 
out  of  the  feeling  of  that  moment.     Hueffer  shares  the  literary  "'\ 
creed  of  his  grandfather  and  the  other  Pre-Raphaelites.-.  It  is  his 
firm  belief  that  art  exists  for  art's  sake  and  should  not  be  ma^T'X^ 
Ilke^-Ii^4»4-{ftaiden  ot  social  THotitT^     His  o'ppogTTTUn'to  Shaw  is    \ 
not  based  solely  on  political  differences.     Art  should  benefit  the     j 
state,  Hueffer  maintains,  not  by  advocating  specific  reforms  but  V^ 
by  telling  the  truth,  by  describing  man  as  he  is  and  showing  the-'^ 
practical  working  out  of  his  ethical  code.     In  this  way  Henr}' 
James  has  benefited  the  English  people  and  Flaubert  might  have 
benefited    the    French    people    had    they    read    his    UEducation 
Sentimentale  betim.es  and  pondered  on  it.     Hueffer  stands  with 
his  grandfather  also  in  his  aversion  to  affectation  and  to  medieval    ^ 
romanticism.     The  language  of  the  author  should  be  the  natural 
language   of   his   own    time.     He    abhors    Stevenson's    sentence: 
"With  interjected  finger  he  delayed  the  motion  of  the  tim.epiece" 
which  "set  back  the  English  language  fifty  years. "     He  finds  dis- 
tasteful the  preciosity  of  Rossetti's  The  Blessed  Damozel  and  holds 
it  not  to  the  credit  of  d'Annunzio  that  in  a  recent  work  he  has 
used  2017  obsolete  words  that  cannot  be  understood  by  a  modern  3^^ 
Italian  without  the  help  of  a  medieval  glossary.     Like  his  grand- 
father Hueffer  craves  companionship  in  artistic  endeavor,   and  V 
deplores  the  fact  that  the  author  of  to-day,  while  he  lives  and    \  ^ 
writes  must  carry  on  without  the  help  of  sincere  and  unbiassed  "^ 
literary  criticism. 

He  satisfies  this  craving  in  some  measure  by  literary  colla- 
boration and,  according  to  H.  G.  Wells,  by  playing  the  part  of  , 
the  good  uncle  to  young  talents.  Grandfather  and  grandson  have  -♦^ 
a  like  literary  conscience.  The  artist's  business  in  life,  as  they 
see  it,  is  to  produce  precisely  accurate  impressions  and  not  to 
shirk  the  hard  tasks.  As  the  grandfather  was  the  first  to  repre- 
sent light  on  the  canvas  precisely  as  he  saw  it,  so  we  find  the 


440  FORD   MADOX   HUEFFER 

grandson  striving  to  give  a  correct  impressionistic  picture  of 
London  in  the  present  or  in  the  future,  or  to  define  precisely  his 
feeling  toward  France,  or  the  exact  difference  between  the  England 
of  to-day  and  that  of  his  boyhood.  All  this  he  does  without  a 
glittering  generality.  His  faithful  picture  is  made  up  of  homely, 
interesting  commonplaces.  The  style  in  these  descriptions  is 
always  clear  but  is  sometimes  conspicuous  by  its  very  precision. 
Hueffer  accounts  for  this  himself.  In  a  certain  sense,  he  says,  he 
is  tri-lingual.  His  homely  poetry  he  has  always  thought  out  In 
colloquial  English.  In  matters  of  pleasures  of  the  table,  of  wines 
and  the  like,  he  has  been  apt  to  think  In  German,  but  whenever 
he  has  framed  a  prose  paragraph  with  great  care,  he  has  framed 
it  in  his  mind  in  French  or  more  rarely  In  Latin  and  then  trans- 
lated It  into  English.  This  seems  most  unplauslble  when  one 
first  reads  It,  but  in  reality  It  is  easy  to  Identify  these  labored 
passages  of  foreign  origin.  They  stand  naturally  only  at  critical 
points  in  his  writings.  For  the  most  part,  however,  the  uncon- 
scious limpid  style  prevails,  tending  even  toward  the  colloquial,  as 
might  be  expected  of  the  teller  of  anecdotes,  while  the  too  frequent 
use  of  the  weakening  word  "very"  tends  to  lend  to  his  descrip- 
tions the  characteristic  nonchalance  of  English  conversation. 
This  one  word  will  frequently  give  the  clue  as  to  the  authorship 
of  passages  In  Conrad  and  Hueffer's  joint  works.  Hueffer  has 
himself  afforded  a  further  clue  which  will  be  mentioned  later. 

Where  Hueffer's  novelllstic  style  is  other  than  simple  it  Is  due 
to  the  intrinsic  difficulty  of  the  theme.  The  writer  of  the  novel 
of  pure  adventure  can  make  the  task  easy  for  the  reader,  but 
Hueffer  often  essays,  as  in  The  Good  Soldier,  to  relate  In  sequence 
the  impressions  that  the  contacts  of  life  make  on  the  pivotal 
characters.  But  In  life  the  first  impression  Is  sometimes  a  wrong 
one,  which  is  corrected  by  a  later  experience;  and  an  adequate 
conception  even  of  our  nearest  acquaintances  may  come  only 
after  a  cycle  of  experiences,  perhaps  never  at  all.  An  Impres- 
sionistic novel,  in  Its  nature,  demands  much  concentration  on  the 
part  of  the  reader,  and  the  style  of  the  author  Is  not  the  chief 
factor  In  the  difficulty. 

There  is  not  the  slightest  uncertainty  as  to  what  Hueffer  has 
set  out  to  accomplish  as  a  writer.  "My  whole  life  as  a  conscious 
artist,"  he  says,  "has  been  a  matter  of  selecting  this  or  that  il- 
lustration so  as  to  convey  to  readers  this  or  that  Impression." 
Hueffer  Is  an  Impressionist  and  a  teller  of  anecdotes.  All  his 
writings  show  this  but  none  so  prominently  as  his  descriptive 


LAWRENCE   MARSDEN   PRICE  441 

wc.rks.  Ill  ItHir  N'olunics,  Memories  and  Impressions,  England 
and  the  English,  Between  St.  George  and  St.  Denis  and  When  Blood 
is  their  Argument,  Hueffer  has  laid  bare  for  us  the  mainsprings  of 
three  civilizations  of  to-day,  the  English,  the  French,  and  the 
Prussian,  and  presented  total  views  of  them  that  deserve  to  be- 
come classic.  Interwoven  are  about  a  thousand  significant 
anecdotes  and  incidents.  One  who  reads  only  the  first  named  of 
these  works  will  simply  think  that  the  author  is  a  favored  mortal 
who  had  the  good  fortune  in  his  youth  to  come  into  contact  with 
artists,  kings,  poets,  and  composers  galore,  and  indeed  Memories 
and  Impressions  is  in  many  respects  the  most  fascinating  of 
Hueffer's  writings  but  as  one  reads  farther  one  gradually  becomes 
aware  that  the  perceiving  and  interpreting  of  anecdotes  is  not  a 
matter  of  mere  good  luck  but  of  specially  trained  skill.  Hueffer 
admires  James  and  Conrad  for  their  ability  to  seize  an  incident,  an 
affair,  a  little  piece  of  life,  and  squeeze  the  last  drop  of  information 
out  of  it.  This  talent  he  possesses  himself  in  a  rare  degree.  He 
tells  us  once  of  a  walk  he  took  with  a  Westphalian  relative,  a 
Geheimratin,  along  the  highway.  Inside  the  "  Wandhecke''  the 
school  children  were  singing  loudly  '^Fuchs,  du  hast  die  Gans 
gestohlem."  As  the  Geheimratin  heard  them  sing  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  That  is  all,  but  Hueffer  devotes  about  fifteen  pages 
to  the  narration  of  this  episode.  In  order  to  explain  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  ''  fVandhecke"  one  must  know  about  the  Prussian 
agrarian  policy  in  Westphalia,  in  order  to  understand  why  the 
children  sang  so  loudly  one  must  understand  the  ultimate  aims  of 
the  Prussian  educational  policy,  in  order  to  comprehend  why  the 
eyes  of  the  Frau  Rath  filled  with  tears  one  must  know  not  only 
her  life  history  but  the  political  history  of  Westphalia  as  well. 
Meanwhile  HueiTer  has  given  us  more  information  than  most 
historians,  held  us  in  greater  suspense  than  m.ost  novelists  and 
left  us  with  a  craving  for  more  explanation.  This  is  but  one  ex- 
ample of  many.  The  anecdote  is  as  much  HueflFer's  weapon  of 
attack  as  the  statistical  table  is  the  ordinary  economic  historian's. 
Not  that  Hueffer  disdains  to  support  his  conclusions  with  figures, 
where  it  can  be  done,  but  for  the  most  part  he  deals  with  the  spirit- 
ual and  mental  wants  of  man  that  defy  measurement  and  tabula- 
tion. 

There  is  a  personal  side  of  Hueffer's  anecdote  telling  that  is 
also  interesting.  The  strict  standards  of  truth  that  prevail 
in  his  literary  school  are  always  compelling  him  to  break  through 
his  reticence  and  confess  his  personal  bias  and  his  point  of  ob- 


^ 


FORD   MADOX   HUEFFER  442 

servation.  So  we  find  him  describing  himself  as  a  small  boy 
much  impressed  by  the  Victorian  figures  that  surrounded  him, 
or  as  a  young  man  learning  from  his  Westphalian  relatives  to 
abhor  the  protestant  Prussians,  as  the  average  reader  without 
special  knowledge  or  special  gifts  but  always  catholic  enough  in 
his  tastes,  reading  in  his  youth  the  adventures  of  Harkaway  Dick 
and  later  Scott,  Shakespeare,  Dickens,  Turgeniev,  Flaubert  or 
James.  Always  we  have  the  picture  of  an  obscure  and  passive 
observer  never  that  of  an  individual  of  whom  some  one  might 
once  have  heard. 

HueiTer's  two  anti-Prussian  works  of  191 5  both  bear  titles 
suggested  by  passages  in  Henry  V.  They  are  put  together  with 
an  art  that  is  alm^ost  too  well  concealed.  When  Blood  is  their 
Argument  is  a  title  to  warn  off  all  but  the  lover  of  sensation,  and 
the  dry  sounding  titles  of  the  chapters  will  ward  off  this  individual 
but  the  book  itself  is  neither  hysterical  nor  dull.  It  is  coldly  and 
convincingly  annihilating.  Its  "Leitmotif"  is  the  poverty  of 
that  thing  that  calls  itself  German  culture. 

The  second  volume  Between  St.  Denis  and  St.  George,  A 
Sketch  of  Three  Civilizatio7is  was,  in  its  origin,  a  response  to 
Shaw  and  certain  pacifists.  It  developed,  however,  into  a  con- 
structive piece  of  work.  There  is  no  vaunting  of  England  in  the 
essay.  The  only  virtue  he  claims  for  England  in  the  critical  days 
was  that  of  correctitude.  She  acted  as  the  society  of  nations 
might  expect  a  civilized  nation  to  act.  That  to  HuefTer's  mind 
is  the  modest  contribution  of  England  to  civilization.  She  has 
taught  people  how,  in  a  populous  world,  one  can  bump  elbows  with 
another  without  giving  constant  cflFence.  Entirely  without 
grandiloquence,  Hueffer  pays  to  France  as  finely  expressed  an 
hom.age  as  that  nation  has  ever  received,  though  his  fervor  is 
restrained  by  the  feeling  that  "to  praise  one's  own  team"  is  an 
impropriety.  Toward  Germ.any  he  is  strictly  fair.  The  im- 
pressionist's veracity  and  the  artist's  conscience  do  not  forsake 
him  even  in  these  polemic  writings,  which,  almost  alone  of  recent 
products,  their  class,  deserve  a  permanent  place  in  literature. 

In  regard  to  Goethe,  however,  Hueffer  may  be  more  biassed 
than  he  realizes.  It  will  be  remembered  that  as  a  part  of  the 
"Kulturkampf"  the  Prussian  directors  of  German  education 
began  to  assign  to  Goethe  a  more  commanding  place  in  the  world 
literature  than  had  hitherto  been  claimed  for  him,  until  he  shortly 
came  to  be  treated  as  a  superman.  At  the  same  time  he  was  made 
to  play  the  role  of  a  nationally-minded  poet,  which  of   course  he 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN   PRICE  443 

was  not.  One  of  the  leaders  of  the  new  policy  even  went  so  far 
as  to  declare  that  the  house  in  which  Goethe  was  born  should  stand 
a  little  higher  than  the  manger  of  Bethlehem.  None  were  more 
offended  by  the  new  policy  than  the  Catholics,  and  Alexander 
Baumgarten,  a  member  of  the  Society  of  Jesus,  was  impelled  to 
write  a  very  conservative  book  on  Goethe  which  reflects  the  oppo- 
sition of  the  time.  With  the  disparaging  spirit  of  this  work  Hueffer 
seems  to  be  in  an  agreement,  which  leads  him  to  criticize  much  in 
Goethe's  work  that  is  in  harmony  with  his  own  literary  principles 
and  practice.  Goethe's  lyric  poetry  was  impressionistic  in 
Hueffer's  sense;  it  exactly  reproduces  the  emotion  of  the  moment. 
His  Ilermarui  und  Dorothea  is  a  simple  and  unostentatious  epic 
of  a  sufficiently  even  character;  a  Homer  who  never  nodded  would 
be  intolerable.  Dichtung  mid  Wahrheit  is  not  so  much  an  account 
of  the  author  as  of  his  times,  corresponding  to  Hueffer's  Memories 
and  Impressions  in  that  respect.  Goethe  tells  us,  it  is  true,  what 
sort  of  clothes  he  wore  as  a  youth  and  how  he  dressed  his  hair, 
but  after  all  does  not  Hueffer  do  the  same,  and  for  a  similar  im- 
personal purpose.?  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Goethe 
was  in  any  sense  a  modest  individual.  There  was  no  especial 
reason  why  he  should  have  been  so,  though  we  would  have  all 
been  grateful  to  him  had  he  possessed  this  final  charm. 

Hueffer  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  all  that  one  may  derive 
through  the  medium  of  the  German  language  is  of  slight  value. 
Every  child  should  learn  enough  German  to  appreciate  the  poems 
of  Heine,  else  his  life  will  be  rendered  poorer  by  his  ignorance, 
but  that  much  German  one  can  learn  from  a  governess.  The 
rest  of  German  literature  appears  to  him  a  doubtful  boon  to  the 
world.  This  view  is  not  unique;  we  have  heard  similar  opinions 
freely  expressed  of  late,  but  rarely  from  persons  in  any  way 
qualified  to  judge.  The  German  philological  system  of  education, 
Hueffer  says,  with  greater  justice,  is  a  positive  bane,  for  it  sub- 
stitutes a  derivative  learning  for  real  contact  with  literature  and 
it  induces  men  to  become  leading  authorities  in  petty  specialties 
instead  of  seeking  a  broad  humanizing  education. 


HI 

Hueffer  assigns  to  the  novelist  an  important  role  in  modern 
life.  Flaubert,  James,  Turgeniev,  and  Conrad  have  by  their 
pictures  of  life,  helped  to  guide  the  world  into  its  proper  course. 


444  FORD  MADOX  HUEFFER 

"Such  work  as  theirs  is  truly  educational,  truly  scientific.  The 
artist  of  to-day,"  he  says,  "is  the  only  man  who  is  concerned  with 
the  values  of  life;  he  is  the  only  man  who,  in  a  world  grown  very 
complicated  through  the  limitless  freedom  of  expression  for  all 
creeds  and  all  m_oralities,  can  place  before  us  how  these  creeds 
work  out  when  applied  to  human  contacts,  and  to  what  goal  of 
human  happiness  these  moralities  will  lead  us. " 

When  Hueffcr,  about  1902,  began  to  train  himself  to  write 
novels  he  had  too  high  an  esteem  for  them  to  enter  upon  his  task 
in  an  amateur  fashion,  learning  the  technique  of  his  art  as  he  went 
along.  He  had  felt  the  spell  of  his  four  chosen  masters  and 
studied  their  craft,  but  that  was  not  enough.  He  published  his 
first  two  novels  under  a  direct  apprenticeship  to  Conrad.  This 
self-suppression  is  the  more  remarkable  in  view  of  the  fact  that 
Hueffer  actually  helped  to  discover  Conrad.  That  happened 
about  the  year  1894.  Hueffer  relates  that  in  the  early  days  of 
liis  retirement  Mr.  Edv/ard  Garnett  came  down  to  his  village, 
bringing  with  him  a  great  basket  of  manuscripts  that  had  been 
submitted  to  his  firm..  He  found  the  Hueffer  household  all 
dressed  more  or  less  mediaevally  as  befitted  disciples  of  socialism 
and  William  Morris  and  drinking  mead  out  of  cups  made  of 
bullock's  horn.  While  Garnett  was  reading  his  MSS,  he  suddenly 
threw  one  across  to  Hueffer  saying  "Look  at  that."  Hueffer 
says: 

I  think  that  then  I  had  the  rarest  literary  pleasure  of  my  existence. 
It  was  to  come  into  contact  with  a  spirit  of  romance,  of  adventure,  of 
distant  lands,  and  with  an  English  that  was  new,  magic,  and  unsurpassed. 
It  sang  like  music;  it  overwhelmed  me  like  a  great  warm  wave  of  the  sea, 
and  it  was  as  clear  as  tropical  sunlight  falling  into  deep  and  scented 
forests  of  the  East.  For  this  MS  was  that  of  Jlmayer's  folly,  the  first 
book  of  Mr.  Joseph  Conrad,  which  he  had  sent  up  for  judgment,  sailing 
away  himself,  as  I  believe,  for  the  last  time  upon  a  ship  going  towards 
the  East.     So  was  Joseph  Conrad  "discovered." 

A  few  years  later  we  find  Hueffer  and  Conrad  as  friends  and 
neighbors  in  the  south  of  England.  In  1901  and  1903  two  novels 
appeared  under  their  joint  authorship.  The  reader  of  Memories 
and  Impressiofis  (191 1)  will  feel  Hueffer's  personality  on  every 
page  of  the  Inheritors  while  Conrad's  critic,  Richard  Curie  says 
the  work  bears  very  little  impress  of  the  touch  of  Conrad.  In 
Memories  and  Impressions  Hueffer  tells  us  of  the  changed  world 
he  found  about  1905,  on  his  return  to  it  after  his  period  of  retire- 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN   PRICE  445 

ment  in  the  country.  Because  of  its  quickened  pace,  its  big 
projects,  its  lavish  and  showy  display  of  money  it  was  almost 
incomprehensible  to  him..  In  his  "lost"  years  he  seemed  to  have 
dropped  the  thread  of  its  development.  For  the  change  that 
had  com.e  over  it  he  held  the  Boer  war  responsible.  The  Inheritors 
was  apparently  born  out  of  the  emotions  of  that  time.  In  the 
heartless  Greenland  project  with  its  hypocritical  professions  of  the 
great  moral  aim  and  in  the  self  assurance  and  predestined  success 
of  the  "dim-cnsionists"  we  have  the  Boer  war  and  the  post-bellum 
race  reflected  in  an  exaggerated  way.  The  spheres  of  life  in 
which  it  plays  are  those  familiar  to  Hueffer  rather  than  to  Con- 
rad; the  editor's  office,  the  studio  and  the  old-fashioned  French 
interior.  The  old  artist  Jenkins  of  the  ruddy  face  and  archaic, 
silver  hair  of  the  King  of  Hearts  is  of  course  HueflPer's  grandfather. 
Ford  Madox  Brown.  HueiTer's  early  experiences  with  various 
literary  men  have  also  left  their  im_press  on  this  novel.  Oddly 
enough  even  the  discovery  of  Conrad  by  HueflFer  and  Garnett 
(Lea)  has  its  record  in  this  novel.  On  the  whole,  one  is  justified 
in  believing  that  Conrad's  share  in  this  novel  was  almost  ex- 
clusively a  critical  one. 

Romance  (1903)  is,  on  the  other  hand,  a  work  of  genuine 
collaboration.  Richard  Curie  surmises  that  Conrad  must  have 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  the  middle  part  of  this  book.  I  be- 
lieve that  the  work  is  the  product  of  a  fairly  even  fusion  of  effort 
throughout  its  length.  To  the  English  Reviezv  of  191 1  Hueffer  has 
contributed  an  article  on  Joseph  Conrad  which,  short  as  it  is,  is 
the  most  authoritative  comment  we  have  on  him.  In  this  article 
Hueffer  indicates  that  the  narrative  part  of  Romance  was  done 
mainly  by  Conrad  and  the  descriptive  part  by  "another  writer," 
though  "that  apportionment  of  the  task  was  never  consciously 
made  between  the  two."  The  manuscript  evidence  of  the  col- 
laboration which  he  presents  is  taken,  it  is  true,  from  the  opening 
and  closing  portion  of  the  book,  but  it  is  not  difficult  to  find 
Hueffer-passages  even  in  the  more  central  portions  where  John 
Kemp  is  adventuring  in  the  West  Indies.  The  following  passage, 
for  example,  is  obviously  Hueffer's  as  the  over-numerous  Very's' 
show:  "The  room  was  very  lofty  and  coldly  dim;  there  were  great 
bars  in  front  of  the  begrimed  windows.  It  was  very  bare,  con- 
taining only  a  long  black  table,  some  packing  cases,  and  half  a 
dozen  rocking  chairs.  Of  these,  five  were  very  new  and  one  very 
old,  black  and  heavy,  with  a  green  leather  seat  and  a  coat  of  arms 
worked  on  its  back  cushions."     Moreover,  it  is  not  hard  to  be- 


446  FORD   A4AD0X   HUEFFER 

llevc  that  the  youthful  coal-ccUar  appreciator  of  Ilarkaway  Dick 
should  liavc  let  his  soul  revel  freely  for  a  time  in  the  imagining  of 
hair-breadth  escapes,  such  as  those  of  John  Kemp.  Indeed  the 
very  details  of  these  adventures  may  seem  familiar  to  those  whom 
Providence  vouchsafed  a  few  sweet,  stolen,  youthful  hours  with 
Dick. 

Hueffer's  later  novels  fall  into  two  groups,  for  he  has  given  us 
alternately  studies  of  past  and  of  present  day  life.  To  the  form.er 
group  belong  The  Fifth  Queen  and  How  She  Came  to  Court  (1906), 
Privy  Seal  (1907),  The  Fifth  Queen  Crowned  (1908),  The  Half- 
Moon,  A  Romance  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New  (1909),  Ladies 
whose  Bright  Eyes  (191 1),  and  The  Young  Love II  (191 3).  To  the 
latter  group  belong  Jn  English  Girl  (1907),  Mr.  Apollo  (1908), 
A  Call  (1910),  The  Panel,  A  Sheer  Comedy  (1912).  (the  American 
edition  is  called  Ring  for  Nancy),  Mr.  Fleight  (1913),  and  The 
Good  Soldier  (191 5). 

On  the  whole  his  work  in  the  historical  field  has  been  of 
greater  distinction  and  more  even  merit  than  that  in  the  field  of 
modern  life.  For,  to  put  it  roughly,  in  the  modern  novel  he  has 
fallen  short  of  Henry  James,  except  in  point  of  style,  while  in  the 
historical  novel  he  far  surpasses  Walter  Scott.  He  has  in  the 
first  place  the  artistic  conscience  that  Scott  lacked,  and  then  he  is 
master  of  the  modern  technique  and  reveals  his  characters,  situ- 
ations, and  scenes  with  the  impressionistic  flash,  where  Scott 
has  recourse  to  enumerations  and  circum.stantial  description. 
Hueflfer  seems  to  have  studied  all  the  details  of  armor,  of  costume 
and  all  the  forms  of  speech  as  thoroughly  as  the  first  master  of 
historical  fiction.  He  shares  with  Scott  an  interest  in  the  super- 
stitions of  the  past.  In  fact,  superstition  seems  to  be  a  pet 
Madox  hobby.  Oliver  Madox  Brown  devoted  his  work  The  Dwale 
Bluth  (1876)  to  that  theme.  Ford  Madox  HueflFer's  brother, 
Oliver  Madox  Hueflfer,  has  written  a  treatise  on  witch-craft,  and 
folk-lore  supplies  plot  and  atmosphere  to  more  than  one  of  Ford 
Madox  Huefifer's  historical  novels.  HuefTer  far  surpasses  Scott, 
however,  in  his  grasp  of  the  sordid  economic  facts  of  life.  His 
characters  act  usually  from  economic  rather  than  from  chivalric 
or  religious  motives. 

The  Fifth  Quee^i  and  hozv  She  Came  to  Court,  Privy  Seal,  His 
Last  Venture,  and  The  Fifth  Queen  Crowned  form  a  trilogy  dealing 
with  the  career  at  court  of  Katherine  Howard.  In  the  course  of 
writing  Hueffer  became  more  and  more  enamored  of  his  heroine, 
as  well  he  might,  since  she  is  so  charmingly  portrayed.     A  com- 


LAWRENCE   MARSDEN   PRICE  447 

parison  of  this  novel  with  certain  passages  in  The  Critical  Attitude 
would  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  Katherine  Howard  who  con- 
verted him  definitely  to  Catholicism,  and  yet  it  will  scarcely  be 
asserted  that  Hueffer  was  partisan  in  his  apportionment  of  lights 
and  shadows  when  drawing  the  picture  of  the  religious  struggles 
of  the  time  of  Henry  the  Eighth. 

This  trilogy  of  works  is,  no  doubt,  Hueffer's  greatest  achieve- 
ment in  the  field  of  the  historical  novel,  but  for  sheer  poetic  beauty 
Ladies  whose  Bright  Eyes  surpasses  it.  This  tale  has  something 
of  the  joy  of  life  and  spring-time  thrill  of  the  poetry  of  Chaucer, 
with  whose  period  it  deals.  In  it,  the  author  has  an  opportunity 
to  set  off  in  a  jaunty  fashion  modern  ideals  and  virtues  against 
ancient  ones  and  nothing  affords  him  greater  pleasure.  It  is  a  tale 
that  makes  life  seem  more  worth  while,  more  full  of  romance  and 
happiness.  "Romance  is  the -flavor  of  any  life  at  any  time,"  the 
modern  Dionissia  says  without  the  least  sententiousness,  and 
"happiness  is  not  the  sort  of  thing  you  can  put  in  the  bank  and 
draw  upon.  It  must  be  found  from  day  to  day  by  homeless 
wanderers  upon   the   road." 

In  the  novel  The  Halj-Moon  Hueffer  worked  decidedly  in  his 
own  field  for  he  knew  the  town  of  Rye  intimately,  and  that,  for 
Hueffer  means  to  know  all  the  stages  of  its  past  as  well  as  its 
present;  moreover  he  had  also  made  an  especial  study  of  the 
economic  situation  of  the  Cinque  Ports  and  had  written  a  solid 
work  on  the  subject  in  1900.  The  first  Englishman  to  die  on  the 
soil  of  Manhattan  was  Edward  Colman,  a  native  of  Rye,  the 
companion  of  Henry  Hudson.  The  first  part  of  this  novel  is 
especially  good,  for  here  all  the  events  take  place  in  the  town  of 
Rye.  The  plot  is  a  little  difficult  to  handle  after  Edward  Colman 
and  Anne  Teal  become  separated  hy  the  then  uncharted  Atlantic, 
yet  they  are  held  together  after  all  by  the  occult  power  of  witch- 
craft. 

The  plot  of  The  Young  Lovell  is  also  rather  tenuous,  but  it 
combiner  well  the  eerie  atmosphere  of  folk  lore  with  the  hard 
economic  facts  of  the  life  of  knight  and  monk  and  commoner. 
Into  it  are  woven  legends  well  known  in  Northumberland  to-day 
such  as  that  of  the  laidly  worm  of  Spindleston  and  the  lady  of 
Glororen.  The-castle  itself,  however,  is  fictitious  as  there  is  no 
third  castle  within  sight  of  Bamburgli  and  Glororen  and  between 
Dunstanburgh  and  Bundle  Bay  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland. 

Of  Hueffer's  studies  of  the  present,  three  are  what  he  might 
call  dpwn-toAvn  novels,  that  is  to  say  novels  dealing  with  people 


448  FORD   MADOX   HUEFFER 

actually  engaged  in  the  business  of  life.  In  them  Hucffer  permits 
himself  to  argue  a  little  about  politics  and  public  morality,  despite 
his  professions  about  art  for  art's  sake.  An  English  Girl,  dealing 
with  American  frenzied  finance,  is  the  least  satisfactory  of  this 
group.  The  work  has  to  a  less  degree  the  haziness  of  background 
that  prevails  in  The  Inheritors.  In  the  second-named  novel 
l^hoebus  Apollo  descends  to  earth  and  tries  to  fathom  the  miOtives 
of  its  remarkable  inhabitants.  He  meets  just  such  people  as 
Hueffer  perhaps  met  at  the  Fabian  club.  The  improbable  cle- 
ment in  Mr.  Apollo  is  easily  overlooked  and  its  technique  is  good, 
nowhere  falling  into  the  banalities  of  Kennedy's  The  Servant  in 
the  House  or  Jerome's  The  Passing  of  the  Third  Floor  Back.  In 
this  novel,  as  well  as  in  Mr.  Fleight,  Hueffer  shows  that  he  knows 
something  of  the  class  of  people  who  struggle  for  a  livelihood,  a 
knowledge  which  elsewhere  in  HueflFer's  modern  novels  is  not  es- 
pecially apparent.  Mr.  Fleight  is  a  novel  of  literary  and  political 
life.  HueiTer  has  presumably  used  m.odels  from  real  life  for  his 
characters  but  has  distorted  them  slightly  for  satirical  purposes. 
American  readers,  who  may  think  HueiTer  unduly  ironical  in  his 
treatment  of  American  conditions,  characters,  and  politics,  may 
feel  more  reconciled  after  reading  this  satire  on  English  conditions. 

According  to  HuefFer's  own  theories  actual  life  is  the  proper 
theme  of  the  novelist,  and  one  wonders  why  he  has  not  written 
more  abundantly  of  it.  Of  the  thousand  significant  anecdotes  of 
life  he  has  related,  comparatively  few  are  actually  utilized  in  his 
novels.  Perhaps  the  momentary  revelations  of  human  nature 
that  he  has  been  permitted  to  witness  scarcely  suffice  to  indicate 
full  rounded  characters.  Hueffer  himself  commients  on  the  fact 
that  we  of  to-day  can  actually  know  but  a  handful  of  human 
beings.  His  individual  reticence  narrows  the  circle  still  more 
closely.  He  tells  once  of  inviting  a  group  of  rather  close  friends 
to  dine  at  his  club  on  Good  Friday;  in  the  course  of  the  repast  he 
first  learned  that  all  present  were  Catholics.  He  relates  the  in- 
cident, of  course,  to  throw  light  on  the  nature  of  London  life.  It 
throws  rather  more  light  on  his  own. 

There  are,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  only  three  novels  of  Hueffer 
that  may  be  regarded  as  intimate  studies  of  the  psychology  of  the 
modern  man.  These  are  The  Call,  The  Panel  {Ring  for  Nancy) 
and  The  Good  Soldier.  In  these  three  particularly  one  recognizes 
the  pupil  of  Henry  James.  In  the  second  one,  HuefTer  even  gees 
so  far  as  to  let  James's  novels  play  a  role  in  the  story.  All  three 
of  these  novels  deal  with  a  trite  theme,  the  eternal  triangle,  the 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN   PRICE  449 

man  placed  between  the  one  whom  he  loves  and  the  one  to  whom 
he  is  in  honor  bound.  The  Call  is  the  least  satisfactory  of  this 
group.  It  may  be  regarded  merely  as  a  preliminary  study,  while 
The  Panel  treats  of  the  subject  light-heartedly,  but  with  a  hidden 
vein  of  seriousness.  ~ 

HueflFer's  latest  novel.  The  Good  Soldier,  shows  his  powers  at 
their  full  development.  In  The  Spirit  of  the  People,  written  in 
1907,  he  relates  a  certain  incident  merely  to  illustrate  the  English- 
man's fear  of  a  display  of  emotion.  A  guardian  had  become  so 
attached  to  a  ward  of  his  that  it  seemed  best  she  should  leave  for 
a  long  journey.  The  guardian  asked  Hueffer  to  go  with  them  in 
a  dog-cart  to  the  station,  where  the  leave-taking  took  place  in 
perfect,  outward  tranquility,  though  one  of  the  two  suflfered  from 
shattered  nerves  for  years  after  and  the  other  died  at  Brindisi  at 
the  beginning  of  the  journey. 

This  anecdote  with  only  slight  variations  form.s  the  climax 
of  Hueffer's  The  Good  Soldier.  He  has  reasoned  back  from  this 
and  determined  what  kind  of  husband,  wife,  and  ward  might 
have  had  such  an  experience  and  has  criticized  the  conventions 
of  life  that  make  such  an  experience  possible.  Here  at  last  we 
have  a  novel  that  deals  with  the  vital  problems  of  human  life, 
that  shows  "how  our  creeds  and  conventional  moralities  work 
out  when  applied  to  human  contacts  and  to  what  goal  of  human 
happiness  those  moralities  lead  us."  Of  course  Mr.  Dowling 
of  Philadelphia  is  in  no  sense  HuefFer  and  Dowling's  Protestant 
and  American  opinions  are  anything  but  his.  Florence  is  no 
American  type  whatever,  but  a  kind  of  modern  Madame  Bovary. 
The  minor  American  characters  and  the  leading  English  ones  are 
probably  drawn  from  actual  observation.  This  is  at  last  a  novel 
such  as  one  might  expect  from  the  pupil  of  great  masters,  a  story 
based  on  observation  and  human  experience,  told  with  the  cold 
analysis  of  Flaubert,  but  tempered  with  the  tolerance  of  Fontaine, 
a  study  of  conduct  such  as  James  would  have  attempted  and 
rendered  also  in  James's  impressionistic  manner,  but  with  Huef-^ 
fer's  clearness  of  style. 


IV 

It  is  vain  to  attempt  to  describe  Ford  Madox  HueflFer's  poetry^   \ 
To  say  that  it  is  impressionistic  would  not  distinguish  it  from  that -A' 


450  FORD   MADOX   HUEFFER 

of  others.     Tliis  brief  poem  can  serve  to  represent  the  particular 
quality  of  his  impressionism: 

You  make  me  think  of  lavender, 
And  that  is  why  I  love  you  so; 
Your  sloping  shoulders,  heavy  hair. 
And  long  swan's  neck  like  snow. 
Befit  those  gracious  girls  of  long  ago, 
Who  in  closed  gardens  took  the  quiet  air; 
Who  lived  tlie  ordered  life,  gently  to  pass 
From  earth  as  from  rose  petals  perfumes  go, 
Or  shadows  from  the  dial  in  the  grass; 
Whose  fingers  from  the  painted  spinet  keys 
Draw  small  heart-clutching  melodies. 

To  call  Hueffer's  poetry,  tender,  simple,  and  humble  would 
be  to  give  an  inadequate  description.  To  quote  H.  G.  Wells 
to  the  eflFect  that  Hueffer  had  produced  sweeter  and  deeper  poetry 
than  Tennyson  Avould  merely  arouse  interest.  Nothing  will 
serve  better  than  t'^  recall  another  of  Hueffer's  own  "small 
heart-clutching  melodies." 

To  Christina  at  Nightfall 

Little  thing,  ah,  little  mouse. 
Creeping  through  the  twilit  house, 
To  watch  within  the  shadow  of  my  chair 

With  large  blue  eyes;  the  firelight  on  your  hair 
Doth  glimmer  gold  and  faint. 
And   on  your  woolen   gown 
That    folds    a-down 

From  steadfast  little  face  to  square-set  feet. 

Ah,  sweet!  ah,  little  one!  so  like  a  carven  saint. 

With  your  unflinching  eyes,  unflinching  face, 

Like  a  small  angel  carved  in  a  high  place, 

Watching  unmoved  across  a  gabled  town; 

When  I  am  weak  and  old, 

And  lose  my  grip,  and  crave  my  small  reward 

Of  tolerance  and  tenderness  and  ruth, 

The  children  of  your  dawning  day  shall  hold 

The  reins  we  drop,  and  wield  the  judge's  sword. 

And  your  swift  feet  shall  tread  upon  my  heels. 

And  I  be  ancient  Error,  you  New  Truth, 

And  I  be  crushed  by  your  advancing  wheels     .     .     . 

Good-night!     The  fire  is   burning  low, 
Put  out  the  lamp; 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN  PRICE  451 

Lay  down  the  \vear\'  little  head 

LTpon   the  small  while  bed. 
L^p  from  the  sea  the  night  winds  blow 

Across  the  hill,  across  the  marsh; 

Chill  and  harsh,  harsh  and  damp, 
The  night  winds  blow. 

But  while  the  slow  hours  go, 
L  who  must  fall  before  you,  late  shall  wait  and  keep 

Watch  and  ward, 

Vigil  and  guard. 

Where  you  sleep. 
Ah,  sweet!  do  you  the  like  where  I  lie  dead. 

It  is  after  all  his  poetry  that  of  all  Hucffer's  work  is  most 
surely  immortal.  Hueffer  says  of  Christina  Rossetti  that 
"though  the  range  of  her  subjects  was  strictly  limited  within  the 
bounds  of  her  personal  emotions,  yet  within  those  limits  she  ex- 
pressed herself  consummately.  She  lived  .  .  .  seeking  al- 
most as  remorselessly  as  did  Flaubert  himself  .  .  .  for  correct 
expression — for  that,  that  is  to  say,  which  was  her  duty  in  life. 
Importance  was  the  last  thing  on  earth  she  would  have  desired." 
If  an}^  poet's  mantle  has  fallen  on  Hueflfer's  shoulders  it  is  surely 
hers.  The  word  emotion  alone  m.ay  be  misunderstood.  His 
poetry  is  emotional  if  we  grant  that  every  beautiful  impression  is 
an  emotion.  Of  course  Hueflfer  has  admired  m.any  and  different 
poets  in  the  course  of  his  life  but  he  has  imitated  none  consciously 
and  consistently.  One  cannot  imitate  emotions,  and  the  form 
in  HuefTer's  case,  is  something  that  adapts  itself  to  the  changing 
moods.  If  Browning  influenced  To  All  the  Dead  or  The  Starling 
HuefTer  was  not  conscious  of  it  at  the  time  of  writing  but  as  he 
says,  "Influences  are  queer  things  and  there  is  no  knowing  when 
or  where  they  may  take  you." 

HuefTer  does  not  care  for  the  most  part  for  Browning's  poetry 
but  confesses  a  deep  admiration  for  German  verse: 

I  know  that  I  would  verj^  willing!}^  cut  off  my  riglit  hand  to  have 
written  the  JVallfahrt  nach  Kev'aar  of  Heine,  or  Im  Moos  by  Annette  von 
Droste.  I  would  give  almost  anything  to  have  written  almost  any 
modern  German  lyric  or  some  of  the  ballads  of  my  friend  Levin  Schiick- 
ing.  These  fellows  you  know.  They  sit  at  their  high  windows  in  Ger- 
man lodgings;  they  lean  out,  it  is  raining  steadily.  Opposite  them  is  a 
sliop  where  herring  salad,  onions  and  oranges  are  sold.  A  woman  with 
a  red  petticoat  and  a  black  and  grey  check  shawl  goes  into  the  shop  and 
buys  three  onions,  four  oranges  and  half  a  kilo  of  herring  salad.  And 
there  is  a  poem ! 


452  FORD  MADOX  HUEFFER 

And  yet  HucfFer  has  surely  not  imitated  Heine.  He  has 
woven  the  everyday  scenes  of  life  into  his  poetry  and  has  done  so 
in  colloquial  language,  it  is  true,  but  the  simple,  musical,  popular 
verse  melodies  of  Heine  he  has  avoided  in  his  most  careful  verse. 
As  he  says:  "'vers  libre'  is  the  only  medium  in  which  I  can  convey 
><^any  more  intimate  m.ocds.  'Vers  libre'  is  a  very  jolly  medium  in 
which  to  write  and  to  read  if  it  be  read  conversationally  and 
quietly.  And  anyhow  symmetrical  or  rhymed  verse  is  for  me  a 
cramped  and  difficult  medium — nr  an  easy  and  uninteresting 
one. " 

This  is  quoted  from  the  preface  to  his  last  collection  of  verse 
called  On  Heave^i  and  Poems  Written  on  Active  Service.  The  recent 
war  has  brought  to  our  ears  the  songs  of  many  English  poets,  all 
of  whom  went  through  much  the  same  experience  yet  who  have 
many  different  messages  to  bring  back.  We  could  have  known  in 
advance  that  Hueffer's  verses  would  contain  no  polemics  and  no 
heroics.  What  he  seems  to  be  saying  is  this :  England  is  a  beauti- 
ful country,  and  even  where  it  is  dingiest  it  is  lovable,  and  when 
one  is  called  upon  one  goes  out  quite  willingly  to  die  for  her. 
Of  course  one  is  homesick  sometimes: 

The  French  guns  roll  continuously 

And  our  guns,  heavy  slow; 

Along  the  Ancre,  sinuously. 

The  transport  wagons  go, 

And  the  dust  is  on  the  thistles 

And  the  larks  sing  up  on  high     .     .     . 

But  I  see  the  Golden  Valley 

Down  by  Tintern  on  the  Wye. 

For  it's  just  nine  weeks  last  Sunday 

Since  we  took  the  Chepstow  train. 

And  I'm  wondering  if  one  day 

We  shall  do  the  like  again; 

For  the  four:   point-two's   come  screaming 

Through  the  sausages  on  high; 

So  there's  little  use  in  dreaming 

How  we  walked  above  the  Wye. 

Dust  and  corpses  in  the  thistles 
Where  the  gas-shells  burst  like  snow, 
And  the  shrapnel  screams  and  whistles 
On  the  Becourt  road  below, 
And  the  High  Wood  bursts  and  bristles 
Where  the  mine-clouds  foul  the  sky     .     .     . 
But  Fm  with  you  up  at  Wyndcraft, 
Over  Tintern  on  the  Wye. 


LAWRENCE  MARSDEN   PRICE  453 

It  is  not  easy  after  all  to  leave  beautiful  England  and  its  joys, 
and  die  a  muddy,  unsightly  death  between  the  trenches,  but  it's 
the  thing  to  do  and  one  does  it.  After  that  it  seems  only  right 
that  the  boys  who  do  it  should  share  in  what  they  died  for.  They 
ought  to  have  a  heaven,  and  the  heaven  ought  to  be  as  they  want 
it,  a  materialist's  heaven.  "I  know  at  least,"  the  author  says, 
"that  I  would  not  keep  on  going  if  I  did  not  feel  that  heaven 
will  be  something  like  Rumpelmeyer's  tea-shop,  with  the  nice 
boys  in  khaki,  with  the  haze  and  glim.mcr  of  the  bright  buttons, 
and  the  nice  girls  in  the  fashions  appropriate  to  the  day  and  the 
little  orchestra  playing 'Let  the  Great  Big  World.'  .  .  .  For 
our  dead  wanted  so  badly  their  leave  in  a  Blighty,  which  would 
have  been  like  that."  So  he  paints  for  them,  in  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  poems  of  the  collection,  a  heaven  that  would  serve 
the  purpose. 

This  most  recent  collection  shows  that  our  pcet  has  found  a 
medium  that  he  can  handle  with  an  ease  that  promises  abundance 
in  the  years  to  come,  but  whether  he  is  destined  to  produce  any 
more  of  those  rare  and  exquisite  miniatures  of  his  earlier  poetic 
period,  is  a  question  too  much  dependent  on  mood  and  circum- 
stance to  permit  of  an  answer. 


A  BOLSHEVIST  THEORY  OF  ART 

By  Geraldine  P.  Dilla 

WHEN  the  best  known  of  Russian  writers,  Count 
Leo  Tolstoi,  first  published  his  book  entitled 
What  is  Art  and  Mr.  Aylmer  Maude  trans- 
lated it  into  English  in  1897,  a  great  storm  of 
protest  was  aroused,  which  awakened  defenders 
and  expositors  of  the  famous  Russian's  theory. 
Now  most  of  us  look  a  little  more  critically  at  doctrines  made  in 
Russia.  When  from  reading  newspaper  accounts  of  the  Bolshe- 
viki's  activities  and  magazine  discussions  of  their  so-called 
principles  we  turn  to  a  survey  of  Tolstoi,  we  are  struck  with  a 
strange  resemblance.  This  explicit  reliance  on  the  taste,  the 
ideals,  the  judgment  of  the  most  untutored  common  man  as 
opposed  to  the  cultivated  and  educated  man — what  is  it  but 
Bolshevism  applied  to  art  criticism.? 

Even  the  most  sympathetic  Mr.  Nathan  Haskell  Dole,  says 
in  his  Life  of  Tolstoi:  "A  great  deal  of  the  criticism  in  What  is  Art? 
Is  delightful,  satirical  and  justified;  but  as  one  might  suspect, 
Tolstoi  goes  too  far,  including  with  decadents,  impressionists,  and 
symbolists,  [what  Tolstoi  calls]  'the  meaningless  works  of  the 
ancient  Greeks, — Sophocles,  Euripides,  Aeschylus,  and  especially 
Aristophanes,  Dante,  Milton,  Shakespeare,  Raphael,  Michael- 
angelo,  Bach,  Beethoven,  and  of  late  years,  Ibsen,  Maeterlick, 
Verlaine,  Wagner,  Liszt,  Berlioz,  Brahms,  Richard  Strauss,  and 
all  that  immense  mass  of  good-for-nothing  imitators  of  those 
imitators!'"  (p.  364).  Again  Mr.  Dole  tells  us  that  "Tolstoi  was 
absolutely  charm.ed  by  the  vigor  and  bea-uty  of  Nietzsche's 
language  and  so  carried  away  that  he  quite  forgot  himself;  he 
especially  liked  the  way  that  Nietzsche  gave  Christianity  its 
coup  de  grace.'''  (p.  365). 

That  we  may  recall  exactly  what  Tolstoi  believed,  I  shall 
review  his  entire  book  What  is  Art?  This  brief  statement  of  his 
doctrine  will  prove  that  this  famous  Russian  unconsciously  held 
a  theory  of  art  which  is  a  very  good  counterpart  in  artistic  criti- 
cism of  Bolshevism  in  present  government. 

454 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recalL 


APr>io'64-3;^K 


ft^ 


fi^g^^ 


STACKS 


ftB 


k    '69 


RECEIVED 


MAR  27 '69 -3  PM 


LOAN  DEPT. 


t^ 


^ 


^ 


'\^]^  ^ 


X^ 


A  7/ 


LD  21A-40m-ll,'63 
(E1602slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


